Can We Rest Now?
by aretsuna
Summary: Series of short scenes- Fitz's recovery from his point of view. Sequel to "Waking Up Is Only The Beginning" (doesn't require reading it).
1. A butterfly dreaming of being a human

_This fic can be treated as sequel to_ _"Waking Up Is Only The Beginning"_ _, but it doesn't require reading it (you'll miss a detail or two, that's it). Some of the scenes from that fic will be covered in here, some questions will be answered, but there will be also a lot of new things._

* * *

 **#1 A butterfly dreaming of being a human**

Green grass was everywhere around, everywhere where an eye could reach. Just above the greenest of green fields was pure blue sky, no trace of clouds, only the sunlight brightening it and sending waves of warmth. The ground was uneven, ups and downs, sometimes forcing him to climb, sometimes helping him walk down. The air was warm, always warm and pleasant, smelling of flowers.

There was not a single soul around, not a sound, no buzzing of bees or other insects, even thoughsome part of Fitz knew that they had to be there somewhere. He laid down on the field of soft grass, watching it with a small, blissful smile playing on his face.

"It's nice in here." He heard a voice coming from behind him, forcing him to look back. "Safe. Quiet."

"Not always," Fitz pointed out. "Not when it's windy."

He looked at the face of his companion, but it was not as interesting as the grass and the sky.

"Doesn't it bother you?" the person asked. "The wind?"

"It talks to me," he shrugged. "Sometimes."

"What does it tell you?"

"Many things. In many different voices. Sometimes too quietly for me to understand. Usually to come back or some nonsense. To wake up or open my eyes. Which is ridiculous since I'm awake and my eyes are open. Sometimes it lightly touches my hands or cheeks. Sometimes it's moist, which I don't like. But sometimes it sings." He added with a smile.

"You like it when sings?"

"Well, it's a rather poor singer. But the song is nice."

"So, you like the wind."

"It doesn't fit in here. Like it's not from here. But it's nice, so I'm not throwing it away." Fitz looked again at the person standing close to him. "I can't recognise your face. Usually I don't enjoy talking with complete strangers. Somehow you don't feel like a stranger," he furrowed his brows trying to wrap his mind around the strange ideas that kept flowing around his mind.

"That's true," the person nodded and Fitz wanted to say that that wasn't an answer, but then he remembered that he hadn't asked any questions. It was all very confusing and strangely calming at the same time

"Why are you here?" Fitz asked, trying to find a topic for conversation.

"Because you think that talking to yourself is stupid."

Here he was, trying to be outgoing and friendly.

They were both just sitting there in silence for a while, Fitz averting his eyes to the grass so as not to stare and appear weird.

"It's not moving," he mumbled with surprise.

"What?"

"The grass. It's not moving," he pointed to the field of green, all perfectly still, like a picture. "It should move, it's always moving. Even when there's no wind that humans can feel, the air is still changing and moving the grass. But not in here. I don't remember it ever moving in here."

"If you focus on it hard enough, it will move," the stranger said in a voice that was no different than all the previous sentences. No emotions, calm and steady. "If you focus long enough it can even change into moss if that's what you want. It's reflecting, after all."

"Reflecting what?"

"Reflecting what you need. You wanted highlands, so you got them. Moving grass is just a detail you haven't found important until just now, so it was ignored. But now, that you've noticed, it will reflect on that."

"I should be confused," Fitz looked up, trying to put a name to that face hanging above him. "But I'm not. Something's slipping away."

"A lot of things. The sky for example."

"What's wrong with the sky?" Fitz looked up at the mass of blue, full of sparks of light and occasional bubbles, waving soothingly above their heads. He turned away from it with lost expression. Everything was fine with the sky, it looked just like it always did.

"Exactly," the person next to him shook his head with a slight disappointment.

"Why I can't see your face?" Fitz asked trying to find some constant in this switching face. He knew it was a person and a person has a face and eyes and nose and mouth, but he just couldn't register what they looked like.

"Because it doesn't matter. The time is almost up."

"Time? I wasn't asking about time, I was asking about your face," he whined.

"But the time is what matters. You can't stay here forever. If you don't go now, you won't be able to come back. You'll go forward."

"Are you going too?"

"There's no place for me there. I'm only where I'm needed. But you can go back, you just have to prove it. That you want to. You have to put some effort into it, or you will stay here and then move forward."

"Why is it a bad thing to move forward?"

There was only silence answering his question. He looked expectantly at the other person, waiting for an explanation.

"If you move forward you can't go back anymore. You still have some time left. You could use it. There's no need to hurry with going forward, you can always do that, but going back is not so easy. If you don't do it now, soon you won't be able to. And there are still people waiting for you there. You know that. They keep calling you after all."

Fitz was laying there for a moment, strange thoughts and conclusions rising in his mind. Finally he sat up. The stranger smiled.

"Will it be hard?" Fitz asked in concern.

"Very. But if the price is not high, it's not worth the effort, right? It's easiest to just stay here. You don't have to do anything, in time you'll just slip forward. Sometimes it's worth to choose the more difficult path, because of what's at the end of it. You're not losing anything by trying and you can gain much."

"It will be different," Fitz gulped while rising to his feet, looking around uncertainly. "Everything will change."

"Probably. Everything changes anyway. Sitting in the same place and doing nothing will not stop it. You can go with the flow or against it, but you won't force it to settle."

Fitz still didn't look convinced.

"Do you remember?" he heard the question. "Why are you here?"

"To save Jemma," he answered immediately. "To keep her safe. To give her a better chance. Did it work?"

"That you'll have to see for yourself."

"Will I remember this?" There was a mass of question fighting in his head and he somehow knew that neither of them were the ones he should be concerned with. Something was slipping away from his mind.

"Depends. Do you want to? You can try."

"Am I strong enough to go through this?"

"Of course not. Nobody has. But you are not alone. Nobody is, not truly. No need to be scared."

"I'm not afraid," Fitz replied instantly, because people always, always doubted this.

"Of course you're not. But it's time."

Fitz looked up and noticed that the soft whisper of wind was drowning out in another sound, the one that started as low and weak beat, getting louder and more rapid, until it was resembling a forceful beating of a pump or engine.

"Will it hurt?"

The beat was there, almost shaking the core of the whole world around him. There was a new addition to it now, a whish of air, as if it was going in and out of nozzle. On the edges of the world the sky was gathering its waters into walls, surrounding him, threatening to fall and trap him. He felt a sting of fear when he realised that it had already happened.

"Not as much as the real thing. After all, the memory always fades compared to reality. Good luck," the person said.

"Who are you?" Fitz finally asked, feeling that it's his last chance and at the same time that it doesn't matter at all.

"Instinct of self-preservation" a person without a face smiled while answering.

The sky collapsed on them, crushing Fitz with water. It was everywhere, all around him, with no place to escape. It was trying to drag him down, drown him. He couldn't breath but he heard the beat of a heart, louder and more rapid with each second, he heard the air entering his lungs. He couldn't give up now, he had to fight.

He had to fight to wake up or die trying.

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 **A/N:**

Mass thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller for beta reading and making sure that my English make sense ;)  
I can't promise regular updates, but I can promise that this fic will be finished as soon as possible, and since it's a series of scenes, you'll not be left with a cliffhanger, so no worries!  
Thanks for reading, please drop a feedback if you have a moment :)


	2. A human dreaming of being a butterfly

**Chapter 2:** **A human dreaming of being a butterfly**

There was no wave of feelings or memories.

There was a chain of... Things. Past things.

 _Sadness conquered by determination._

 _Tight, peaceful smile._

 _A scream that should tear his soul apart, but was accepted as necessity- sad but right._

 _A flick of crushing pain and a bliss of falling asleep._

 _A sky or a wall of water crushing down on him._

A piercing sound getting louder and louder.

A noise.

A light.

A blur of colours.

Chaos.

There were sounds Fitz couldn't recognise. There was that piercing beat, the first sound he had heard, getting louder and louder with each second. There was something familiar in it, even though it was way too noisy. There was a light shining right into his used-to-darkness eyes. There were voices and shadows moving everywhere.

There was something in his mouth, something covering his jaw and nose, something that got in the way of his shaky breath. He wanted to get rid of it, but it was stuck and he couldn't do anything about it.

Something blocked the light from him, a shadow of brown and white. Something touched his cheek, warm and soothing. He tried to move back to see more clearly, not able to focus his eyes in such a short distance. There was no place for him to move back. He had nowhere to move. Nowhere to run.

There was a sound coming from the shadow's direction, something repeated over and over. The air around him smelled familiar, calming. The beating sound was getting louder and faster, drilling into his brain and he wanted to cover his ears but couldn't find his hands; they were alien and out of reach. There were wires, or ropes, or some other kind of restriction on his body and he couldn't move, not when all of his limbs felt numb and alien.

The brown shadow disappeared from his vision along with the familiar scent, but it's voice could still be heard, louder and more urgent. There was a strong light shooting right into one of his eyes, then to the other one. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't. Even if it wasn't for the gag in his mouth, he couldn't recollect what was it that he wanted to communicate.

And then everything started to blur even more, sounds muffled, and the light was replaced by darkness.

* * *

"Simmons, calm down. They know what they're doing." May tried to hold the other woman away from the glass window in the door. Not an easy task when the tiny scientist was doing everything to get out and back into the room, to Fitz's side.

"Why are they sedating him? He just woke up." May could tell that Skye was trying not to let her emotions swallow her, but her worry was only getting stronger.

"He was starting to panic, you've seen his heart rate. The doctors know what they're doing," May repeated trying to convince herself, because she couldn't start doubting if she was to keep the other two agents out of the way. "It will be fine. What's important is that he's awake. You hear me, Simmons?" She tried to get her attention and finally succeeded - Jemma looked away from the window and back at her. "He's awake, he just needs a moment."

There was a moment of silence when she was just staring at her with wide eyes.  
"Fitz is awake," Simmons finally nodded, a tiny, watery smile at last appearing on her face after nine long days.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This story is not abandoned! I'm working on it, I have a few chapters finished already but it's just being pushed lower and lower on my priority list, since I keep writing other things.

The title of this and the previous chapter is a reference to Zhuangzi- a Chinese philosopher and his "Butterfly dream". (I'm not a specialist in Chinese philosophy, I read this in manga).

Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajbruce for beta reading.


	3. They put the spark in me

**#3 They put the spark in me. And now all it does is burn.**

There were no days and nights, just blurry moments or _almost_ clarity. Sometimes Fitz woke up and was sure he was still dreaming because nothing felt real, let alone right. The colours were too bright and hurting his eyes, or simply too dim to catch his attention. The sounds made no sense and all of his attempts to find anything resembling harmony were in vain. His arms were made of glass, not listening to him at all, and stubbornly laying still. In those moments he was just closing his eyes, denying everything around him until he fell asleep again, finding refuge in darkness and silence.

Other times he was sure he was sleeping because everything was dark and there was this pleasant haze around his mind, and yet he could still hear voices. For once they made sense, but when he tried to focus on them and answer, he dropped further into night.

With time it was getting better. The colours turned into shapes and shapes into figures and sometimes he was even able to give them names. There were moments when he woke up and stared at something, unable to recall names and purposes of things surrounding him, but more and more often he woke up and after the initial disorientation he was able to recognise something. Sometimes he noticed a book on his desk, sometimes he saw a person sitting in a chair next to him, asleep or smiling at him as if he had done something that made her happy. Sometimes he had no idea where he was, but other times he saw her and wanted to hold her hand, to wipe the worried look from her face. It was easier for him to distinguish between things, between day and night, between being awake and sleeping.

After some time he could stay awake longer, and so he noticed and remembered more and more.

He noticed that there were people around him, and remembered that they were different, changing each time.

There was this young women with brown hair and eyes, the one that was always sitting close and sometimes holding his hand. She was always talking to him in a voice that sounded like a song to his ears, telling him strange things or reading to him. It put him at ease at first, giving him some strange comfort and illusion of safety. Then he started to worry, because he couldn't quite catch what she was telling him. He knew she was asking him questions, sometimes easy ones, like "do you recognise me?" to which he was working hard to nod and show her that he was there and he remembered. Sometimes they were way too complicated for him to even understand the words, let alone how they worked together in a sentence. With each day the pattern was getting more and more stabile: easy question, nod, a wave of words which made him lost and her looking at him with sadness that she tried to hide in her eyes but failed, him trying to do something, anything to stop feeling like he'd disappointed her. And then there was the night and day and it started all over again.

There was this other woman, even younger, with long hair, that was always smiling, always cheerful, always lying and trying to trick him into believing in this false happiness. Making him wonder why she was insisting so much on pretending everything was fine when it was obvious in her every move that nothing was.

There was a man, much older and always elegant, that sat and looked at him, clearly not knowing what to say and yet stubbornly staying near.

There was a woman, black hair, strict face. She was silent, always made sure he had his blanket close and brought him flowers, rearranging them in the vase so he could see their colours and feel their smell. He liked it when she came to visit, since in those moments of confusion, she was the only one that brought only calm.

There was a man, tall, muscled, dark skin, bright smile, the one that at first made him uncomfortable for some reason, but with time his cheer seemed to radiate around the room and filled even Fitz with a strange hope that there was a light at the end of every tunnel.

But time was not still and everything was changing. Especially the way his brain was processing things around him.

Soon, he opened his eyes and saw Simmons sitting next to him, heard her talking about her latest projects and wished he could join, but his mind was still stumbling on longer words and his arms were still too heavy to move them and catch her hand.

He noticed bags under Skye's eyes and how tired she was, sitting next to him in her training clothes, bruises on her arms and sometimes on her face. He saw how she tried to cheer him up, when she herself was heartbroken.

It became more and more obvious that Coulson was worried, more than he'd ever seen him, not only about Fitz, but about many other things clouding the Director's mind.

He saw that May was doing her best to stay strong and calm, even though there were problems storming everywhere around her, forcing her to be cautious and ready at every second.

Even Trip was becoming more and more tired of gloominess surrounding him, tired of following blindly and sticking to the place life threw him into. All he could do was smile in hope that this way he would at least make a difference in this chaos.

Finally Fitz noticed what he was trying to deny this whole time: he couldn't speak, he couldn't move more than a tiny bit, but worst of all, he couldn't focus and reach any meaningful conclusion, his brain being stubborn and not as sharp as it used to.

* * *

 **A/N:**

The title of this chapter is a quote from Buffy the Vampire Slayer s07e02 "Beneath You" it's from the same Spike speech as the fic's title.

Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajbruce for beta reading.


	4. Brain to muscles, do you copy?

Back at the Academy, whenever Simmons returned from another date with some muscular Ops guy, Fitz would wonder about going to the gym and starting training to stay in shape, look more like a man and less like a child. He even went there a few times, but weight lifting was difficult and boring and he hated the way other guys were looking at him, even though he knew their pity and laughs were only a creation of his imagination and lack of confidence.

It was not as difficult back then as it was now. Every day he was fighting desperately to lift his body to sitting position, his weak right arm trembling and protesting against any sort of work, his left hanging uselessly in a cast.

Now there were people around him too, of course, just like back then. People he knew, people whose opinions were important to him. It was easier with strangers, he decided. It was easier when it was some random person looking at him, not Simmons with her eyes intense as if she could lift his torso with just the force of her mind. She was smiling at him, but he could see her bitting her lips after every encouragement she gave, uncertain if she was saying the truth and everything would really work out in the end. He was torn between taking the comfort her words were offering and calling her on how he could clearly see that he was pathetic. But apart from being unable to sit, he was unable to speak too, so he just grit his teeth, trying to force himself to finally do something that would make him look like more than a shadow of a man. It used to be so easy, now he was slowly loosing hope of ever succeeding again and had to fight this feeling too. Even little kids can sit before they speak, surely he can't be worse than a little kid?

Well, maybe he could. He was already like a kid, needing help with the most basic of things. He couldn't even eat his soup on his own, not without making a mess everywhere around him. It even took him more than 20 minutes to eat a stupid dinner! He couldn't walk, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even sit. He probably wouldn't be able to tie his shoelaces given the chance too.

His arm trembled a little more and he tired to catch his balance but felt a sharp stab of pain in his left tiny bit of pain was apparently enough to break him now. He saw the alarm in Simmons' eyes, just when he started to fall.

Again.

Another disappointment.

Again.

This time it was Skye who caught him before he hit the surface, steadying him and pulling him up. He didn't know where to run away with his eyes, trying to avoid everyone and everything at the same time.

"Don't," he growled, too angry at himself for failing again, to notice anything else.

It took him a second and the bright smile blooming on Jemma's face to see that when his muscles again disobeyed him, his vocal cords finally listened.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Finding a title for this chapter was really really hard. Just saying.  
Next chapter is, for a change, gonna be funny (well, at least I hope it will be ;)  
Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajbruce for beta reading.


	5. Priorities blended in IV

There were people there. Again. And they were speaking. Something. Again. But today their voices weren't so senseless or confusing. They actually sounded kind of nice. Not that their meaning dawned upon Fitz. It wasn't one of those moments.

He moved his face a little, so that his cheek touched his duvet. It was so nice. He loved his cover. Seriously, it was so warm and nice, and he could hide under it and it muffled sounds when they get too irritating and light when it was too bright. It was currently his favourite thing in the whole world. And his pillow right after that, of course. It was so comfortable and soft. And almost as good at silencing noises as duvet.

But today he was not trying to block anything, and the day was bright, and good, and everything was just so... nice. And problem free. And simple. Most important of all - nothing hurt him. He would be almost happy if he wasn't so confused. But he was confused enough not to worry about being confused, his thoughts tripping and tangling and bubbling into smiles.

There was a little part of his mind that suspected he had to thank his IV for that. Or whatever was inside. But for now, he was just blissful and not worrying over what type of chemistry was circulating in his bloodstream.

 _Yes,_ he pushed all the confusion away, t _he duvet was without any doubt the most perfect creation in the history of the world._ It had everything one could ever need. Fluffiness, softness, warmth, everything. Add a perfect pillow to this and... Right. The pillow. What if the pillow was jealous of the duvet? He loved them both equally, but what if the pillow couldn't see that? The duvet was bigger, more easy to hug, while the only sign of affection he gave his pillow was scratching it softly with his hair. What if the pillow thought that the duvet was taking all the credit for itself? That it was making Fitz not notice how much the pillow was giving him? That it was blaming the duvet for all the problems in their relationship?

Oh, no. What if the pillow and the duvet hated each other? What if one day he would have to choose one of them?

Fitz couldn't even imagine that, it would simply be too terrible. He had to make them believe that they were both important. That he needed them both equally. That they had to rise above their differences. That together they could achieve more than the could apart. But he had to be subtle, so that they wouldn't see through his plan. He must be sneaky like a... a tiger or a monkey.

Fitz noticed that there was some guy sitting next to him, speaking urgently and loudly. Something about work and a device that needed some expertise. Well then, why this person was wasting time sitting there, when he should just go and find someone who had this expertise and stop bothering Fitz? Really, he was trying to stop a war in here, they could give him a little peace when he needed to focus on important things! The pillow was now refusing to talk with anyone and the duvet hugged his legs so tightly like it was afraid that he would escape and leave with the pillow the first chance he got. It was way more important than some device, family comes first after all.

Great. Now the sheet was accusing him of playing favourites too.

* * *

 **A/N**

This chapter was written a long while ago, back in the middle of "Waking Up Is Only the Beginning" when I really needed a break form all this

With this chapter this fic is going for temporary hiatus. For lots of reasons, but don't worry, it will be finished ;) Afer all, we still don't know why Fitz was watching "Waters of Mars" and I promised answers. I just need to catch breath ;)

Thanks to TheLateNightStoryTeller and amandajbruce for beta reading.

Thanks for reading!


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